


Pumpkin Latte Kiss

by Breath4Soul



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Coffee, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, John Is So Done, M/M, POV First Person, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Prompt Fill, Pumpkin Latte, Revenge, Seasonal, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Starbucks, Tumblr Prompt, irritated John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2018-07-17 22:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7288999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breath4Soul/pseuds/Breath4Soul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A JLAC Prompt fill: <i>Pumpkin Latte </i></p><p>A fluffy little piece where John exacts revenge on Sherlock for being a prick and Sherlock behaves in a typically Sherlockian <i>a bit not good </i> way.</p><blockquote>
  <p>Perhaps I shouldn't have laughed so loud, but the face did <i>not </i>disappoint. What I had not expected (and surely should have at this point in our association) is that Sherlock does not take kindly to being outwitted.</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

My first kiss from Sherlock Holmes tasted like Pumpkin Spice Latte. 

If you can call it a kiss… but sitting here with the distinct taste of cinnamon, allspice and Sherlock in my mouth, I am finding it hard to conjure another definition for it.

I was feeling a bit put out. I was tired and irritated and when Sherlock all but ordered me to find him a decent cup of coffee I mentally ticked through some ways I could do him physical harm, but then, with some grumbling, submitted to his demands. 

I found a Starbucks and, staring up at the mind numbing selection on their menu, my eyes fell on a sign advertising their seasonal pumpkin spice flavoring. 

I could imagine Sherlock's face, lips curled in disgust, eyes wide with surprise, maybe even a little reflexive gag of horror. And maybe, just maybe, he'd think twice about ordering me to fetch him coffee when I'd followed him through the nastier parts of the city in the cold and the rain all night long. 

I set his cup down next to him on the desk and went to my chair to wait. 

Perhaps I shouldn't have laughed so loud, but the face did _not_ disappoint. What I had not expected (and surely should have at this point in our association) is that Sherlock does not take kindly to being outwitted. The moment he realized my treachery was the moment I found him straddling my lap, his tongue thrust into my mouth coating the ungodly concoction to every surface he could reach; tongue and teeth and roof, before the shock wore off and I shoved him away. He landed on the floor with a thunk and looked up at me with a self-satisfied smile. 

“If I am going to suffer that nasty assault on my taste buds so are you,” he asserted with a smirk as he got to his feet. 

I couldn't speak, my mouth apparently still reeling from the invasion. 

“I don't expect you'll be trying _that _again,” he concluded sauntering away.__

__He was right… _then again_ … I had to wonder what next month's flavor might be._ _


	2. Lemon Bar Frappacino

I'd actually thought he was repentant. That's what a normal person might do when they've been an utter twat; make a gesture of kindness to demonstrate their remorse. He was, of course, counting on my misconception.

Whatever his intention, standing in the hall outside his bedroom, body trembling, eyes wild and dark with pupil, slack lips hot with friction, and mouth smeared with the sugary tang of some sort of lemony coffee concoction and my saliva, I am certain the mad genius didn't fully anticipate the consequences of his devious plan.

Sherlock had been a right nuisance from the moment I woke. What should have been a pleasant day off, lounging about the flat, catching up on reading, typing up some cases on my blog, and enjoying his comfortable companionship, instead found my patience nearly depleted before I even had a chance to scrub the sleep out of my eyes. 

The day started with the dissection of the innards of something rotten and fleshy (perhaps pig?) on the kitchen table. It only took a whiff to effectively extinguished my appetite for breakfast. Sherlock apparently felt my objections unreasonable as he immediately slipped into one of his notoriously black moods; mopy, churlish and snappish in turns.

Mid-morning culminated in an explosion that, in addition to a loud bang that frazzled my already frayed nerves, released a cloud of noxious gas. This necessitated all the windows being thrown open to the chilly winter air so our flat could air out. 

Therefore, noon time found me hungry, freezing, and very near murderous towards a certain mad flatmate. A discontent I expressed by binning all the (biohazardous) _experiments_ from the fridge with, admittedly, a small amount of dark delight.

When he swooped out of the flat in a flurry of wild curls and flapping coat, I merely muttered 'good riddance.’ A bit of space was exactly what the situation required.

By the time he reappeared, approximately an hour later, my anger had been tempered and I was content to brood in silence over the paper while he moped quietly. Which was, for us, what amounted to a truce. 

I didn't expect him to slip a pasty and coffee from Starbucks onto the table next to me. He must have seen the confusion on my face, anticipated my suspicion, because he gave me his shyest, scorned puppy dog look and mumbled something vaguely penitent about _‘ruined breakfast’_ before retreating to the couch. 

He knew. 

He knew I despised losing my temper, even when it seemed fully warranted. He knew that if I truly thought I'd hurt his feelings, out of guilt, I'd be unable to resist his gesture of appeasement.

I am a fool.

The moment the wretched lemony concoction hit my lips, in a flash of awful clarity, I knew precisely what he'd done. Clearly, the prat had only been waiting for the proper opportunity to exact his revenge for the Pumpkin Latte incident. Perhaps the whole day was an elaborate ruse to wind me up and start a row so he would have an excuse to bring me something.

Fool that I am, I'd taken a generous sip and the hideous, syrupy stuff now coated my taste buds completely.

“You bastard!” I was up on my feet so fast that Sherlock actually looked alarmed, leaping up from his seat on the couch as well.

“Now, John,” he said in his most reasonable and diplomatic tone; his hands cast out in front of himself. I'd seen him less cautious in negotiating with serial killers and career criminals. “Let's not do anything we'll regret.” 

It didn't pass my observation that he was slowly edging in the direction of the doorway to the hall or that, for all his attempts to appear contrite, his lips were curled up at the corners and there was a spark of triumph and amusement lighting his eyes.

“Oh, you _are_ going to regret this, you utter twat.” I charged at him and he leapt up over the coffee table, like a bloody gazelle. I grabbed for him but he nimbly dodged and scrambled past me into the hall. I barrelled after. I caught up as he reached for his bedroom door. 

Before I'd had time to think better, he was against the wall, my body pinning him, my hands holding his head in place and my tongue plunging into his mouth and twisting to transfer that revolting lemony sweetness from my mouth to his as thoroughly as possible. 

It was Sherlock's whimper and sudden surrender, melting bonelessly against me, that snapped me back from my furious oral attack. I released him and stepped back, staring in wonder at the sight before me. 

And oh what a sight to behold it was!

He looked utterly debauched, slumped back with his hands splayed against the wall to brace himself. His hair was a riot of curls from my fingers tangling in it, his lips were slick and red, and his white cheeks were spotted pink with a flush that had also crawled down the column of his long neck. 

It wasn't a kiss.  
It _wasn't!_  
_But_ he sure looked a lot like a man that had been kissed to within an inch of his life.

I clenched my fists at my side against the odd urge to reach for him and finish the job. I straightened my spine and lifted my chin in the posture of command from my military days. “Learned our lesson now.” I gave him a curt nod. “Good.”

He sighed shakily and looked up at me with lips agape. They moved slightly, as if to form words, but nothing came out. 

I probably shouldn't have felt so smug but to finally see the great Sherlock Holmes rendered speechless was enough to put a little swagger in my step as I pivoted sharply and marched away.

Of course he didn't stay that way for long.

“Well…” At the sound of his voice I made the mistake of pausing in my strategic retreat to my room to glance back down the hall at him. He was staring straight ahead at the opposite wall, fingers lightly stroking over his lips. “We certainly learned _something_.”

His tone of intrigue and consideration told me this was far from over and, more than likely, I was the one that was going to regret it in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> Stumbled across this I forgot to migrate over when I joined AO3.  
> Completely out of season but here is one of my first Johnlock works.
> 
>  **As alway, you are appreciated.**  
>  Leave me with Kudos or comments to make my day!


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